Finding My Way

by Heidi McLaughlin

  The lights dim and the crowd comes alive. The chanting of their name – it’s what I want. My heart races for them. My palms sweat with excitement and I’m not even on stage, but they are and they’re living a dream. I scan the patrons briefly; wondering if any are agents or scouts looking for new talent.

  A guitar strums and I swivel back toward the stage. Sticks clank together four times before Harrison’s arms move quickly and bang onto his drums. The crowd screams as the music starts and the lead singer takes hold of the microphone. The way she clutches it in her hand shows me that she’s in charge. She owns the stage with her music and that is something I haven’t grasped yet. She’s putting on a show and I need to do that as well.

  My eyes wander between her, Harrison, Burke and her guitar player. Each one of them commands a presence with their own craft. The lead singer moves across the stage, tempting her fans with the way her hips sway, the way her leg bounces as she belts out the lyrics to her song. They respond in kind by grappling for her, begging for her attention. She is what I need to be. I can’t be this lump of body mass sitting on a stool singing about a love that I had and lost due to my own actions. I need to re-invent myself. I need to figure out how to command a crowd and bring them to their knees because that’s what she’s doing now. They’re eating out of her palm and she loves every minute of it.

  I’m going to love every minute of it.

  Chapter 29

  As this singer, whose name I need to learn, finishes her last song, the crowd is showering them with thundering applause and I can’t help but join in. The band deserves it, each one of them, including Harrison and Burke. This is the first time I’ve analyzed a performance. Watching MTV does nothing for you when you can sit next to the stage and watch every single movement, hear the reactions from the audience and feel the vibration coming off the instruments. Each action is being cemented into my brain. This is what I needed to take my next step.

  The lights dim, but the fans get louder. I can’t help joining in with the celebration. I cup my hands over my mouth and scream loudly, begging them for an encore. The deafening cheers are enough to bring them back on stage. I look around and see just how infectious the singer is to her capture audience and that sentiment is returned when they look back at her. It’s pure admiration.

  They leave the stage after finishing three more songs and the lights come on. This must be Trixie’s cue for people to start leaving. Metro is so different from Ralph’s; it’s like night and day. Ralph’s is home drinking where people will spend hours just sitting at the bar telling Ralph, the owner, all of their troubles. Metro is art deco and Trixie doesn’t care if you want to linger, you’re in and out.

  It’s time to move on.

  I walk backstage as Harrison suggested. As soon as I open the door I’m greeted with laughter. So much so, that I can’t help smiling as soon as I walk into the room. The lead singer is shaking a bottle of champagne and lets its contents fly, dousing the room with sticky liquid. The excitement in the room is contagious and it leaves me wanting this for myself. I know I could’ve had it with football. Winning the big game for college or NFL – that’s what it’s like to be a part of a family, but it’s not the family I want. I want this one or something similar. I want to be close to the fans and feel their elation permeate off them and onto me.

  “What did you think?” I turn at the sound of a captivating voice beside me. The lead singer is standing next to me offering a beer to me. I take it with a smile and bring the cold, dark glass to my lips. The amber liquid is a welcome taste and one that I’ve missed sharing with my friends these past few months. I haven’t dared drink in front of my grandmother for fear she’d disapprove and for some reason her approval is incredibly important to me.

  “What’s your name?” I ask, avoiding her question. Since I’ve become acquainted with her on stage, it’s only right that I know her name.

  She smiles and turns away. Her grin is infectious and I find myself smiling against the lip of my bottle. There’s something wild about her, you can see it in her eyes. They’re honey colored and twinkling in the bright lights above our heads. She winks and that reminds me that I still don’t know her name.

  “A…” The words lodge causing me clear my throat. I look down at my shoe and shake my head. When I look up, I quickly realize that this girl could be trouble. Her lower lip is pulled into her mouth. Her eyes are bright, glossy. “Are you going to tell me your name?” I ask again, my voice barely above a whisper. I don’t know what’s come over me, but I need to snap out of it. This isn’t me. I’ve never acted like this with a girl before. Not even her and honestly it feels wrong to be this way now. I take a step back to put some space between us, only she steps forward so we’re almost body to body.

  “My name’s Layla,” she reveals as she offers her hand and being the gentlemen that I am, I take it in mine and shake. When I let go she slowly traces her nails along my palm sending chills up my spine. “Did you enjoy the show?”

  I nod, unable to find any words. I’ve heard stories about women who go after what they want, but have never seen any in action. I’m eighteen and fairly inexperienced and I have a distinct feeling the enigmatic being standing in front of me will eat me for a snack.

  “I learnt a lot.” I close my eyes in embarrassment. I bring my hand to my forehead to knock some sense into myself but realize that’s probably pretty childish and right now I need to be a confident, self-assured man, so I run my hand through my hair casually. “Your show was jammin’.”

  Layla laughs and shakes her head. “It’s a set and no one says jammin’, but I’ll forgive you if you come out with us tonight.”

  “Us?”

  She turns and waves her arm out over the room. I look around and my eyes find Harrison, who tips his beer at me. I return the sentiment, thankful that he’s brought me here.

  “All of us. We’re going to a dance club down the street.”

  “Ah I don’t really dance.” It’s a cop out. I can dance, I just don’t want to.

  Layla steps forward, eliminating the remaining space between us. “No one really dances. We stand there with our bodies pressed together and let the music move us.”

  My head dips, acknowledging her. “I’ll come,” I blurt out stupidly.

  “Perfect,” she says as she backs away. The smile that is plastered on her face never leaves. It hits me like a ton of bricks that she’s just played me. For a brief moment I thought she was into me, but as I watch her work the room, it becomes apparent that she’s just securing her entourage for the night. I’m nothing more than a pawn in her game and somehow I’m okay with that.

  The room is brimming with people but I’m alone, sipping on an almost empty beer. Harrison is in the corner talking to the other member of the band and he looks like he’s hitting on her so it’s probably best that I stay where I am. I let my eyes wander around the room, acting as if everything is interesting. I have never felt so awkward, but I don’t want to leave. I want to experience the nightlife. I want to see what I’ve been missing out on by living in Beaumont and never taking an adventure anywhere. We don’t have nightclubs, we have the country club and the only time most of us hang out there is for Prom.

  Layla breaks my musing when she announces we’re leaving. I set my empty bottle down and walk toward her. To my surprise she links her arm with mine and sets our pace. The night air is still sweltering, another difference between here and Beaumont. It’s not chilly and I have a perverse desire to strip down and go swimming. I’m guessing doing such a thing would probably be frowned upon.

  It feels different to have someone else’s arm inside of mine. Her other hand is clutching my bicep, a sure sign that she’s marking some type of territory. From what, I don’t know. Part of me wants to slide away from her, but the rest wants to stay and let her guide me. Just because she’s holding onto me now doesn’t mean she’ll be with me in the club. Maybe this is nothing more than a friendly gesture so I don’t get lost in t
he crowd en route to the club or maybe it’s so I don’t get lost when we get there. We squeeze through the door and the bass instantly vibrates through my body. A few of the others in our group raise their arms and head off toward the dance floor and we make our way to the bar. My stomach drops as I try to remember whether my fake ID is in my wallet or not. The last thing I want or need is to be thrown out of here because I’m underage. I’ve already lied once tonight, no need to push my luck any longer.

  Much to my relief Layla orders and I’m not asked. She hands me a beer, taps hers against mine and walks away. I don’t know if I’m supposed to follow, but I’m thinking she meant to leave me here since I can barely make out her red hair among the masses.

  I lean against a small open space on the bar and pretend to watch everyone. What I’m really doing is waiting for Harrison. I feel like such an outsider. I don’t know what I’m doing. I know I should let loose and mingle, but I don’t know how. I pull out my phone to occupy my time and see that I have a missed call. I flip it open and there’s a voicemail and her number. It’s too loud in here, but I’m afraid if I leave I won’t get back in. Layla walked us right by the bouncer and he didn’t even flinch. I’m no one though. I won’t be so lucky.

  I meander through the crowd and find the bathroom. Unfortunately it’s the only way I’m going to be able to hear what she has to say. I lock myself in a stall and take a deep breath to try to calm my racing heart. I don’t know what I want her to say. If she asks me to come get her, I will. I don’t care if it’s been two months and we haven’t spoken. I’ll leave tonight to go get her.

  I dial the code for my voicemail and hold my phone to my ear. The seconds it takes to connect seem like a lifetime. Everything that I did to her comes rushing back. Leaving her in her dorm room, knowing I was making the right decision, but breaking my own heart weighs heavily. I wronged her. There’s no sugarcoating what I did. Now that I’m here I know I should’ve pushed harder, but the times that I played my guitar for her and her felt her stiffen in my arms when she heard me on my stereo are at the forefront of my mind. She’ll never understand why I need to do this for myself.

  Her voice fills my ears and my eyes start to water. I close them, fighting back the tears.

  I hate you. I hate you so much for what you’ve done to me. Are you listening to me? I hope you’re happy and in a ditch somewhere. You’ve ruined my life.

  I click save and replay it, again and again. Letting her words seep into my skin and burn into my mind.

  She hates me.

  She hates me.

  She hates me.

  I hate me.

  I’ve ruined her life. She’s eighteen and I’ve ruined her life. But I was ruining mine. Why couldn’t she see that? I wasn’t happy. I was suffocating and now I’m not. Now I’m breathing and am able to sleep at night. I can finally close my eyes and not see my life playing out in front of me like a bad dream. If I stayed, we wouldn’t have made it. We’d be a statistic and that’s the last thing I want.

  I leave the stall and quickly wash my hands before heading back to the bar. I need to forget about what I left behind in Beaumont and the only way to do that is to numb my mind. She’s right to hate me. I will never fault her for that. I want her to, if I’m being honest with myself. I don’t want her pining away for me when I’m not coming back.

  I’m pushed from behind and before I can turn around and punch someone, arms move around my waist. I turn slightly to see the red hair I was looking for earlier. I could fight her and ignore her attempt to get me on the dance floor, but I don’t. I let her drive us into the barrage of sweating bodies.

  She moves around me, her fingers dipping under my shirt, dancing along my skin. I should tell her no, but I can’t find the words. Layla dips down and slowly brings her body up against mine. Her hands move up my torso, over my neck and into my hair. My eyes close on their own free will. I hate that my body is reacting to her. It’s not supposed to. I should be damned and sent to hell for causing my girl so much pain, but here I am enjoying the exhilaration coursing through my body because of the way Layla’s touching me.

  My eyes spring open when her fingers still. Her hand moves to her mouth and away. My eyes follow. Growing up in Beaumont I never realized now naïve I was until now. Sitting on her tongue is a white pill and she’s offering it to me. My eyes move from her mouth to her hooded eyes and back again. People all around us are moving, gyrating to the music. Layla steps closer, allowing for no space between us. Her hand cups the back of my head while her other hand leaves a blazing trail down the side of my neck. My hearts is screaming no, reminding me of the damage I’ve caused. Telling me that I don’t deserve happiness, but my mind is urging me forward.

  I listen to my head this time and move toward Layla. She doesn’t wait and touches her lips to mine, pushing her tongue into my mouth. Immediately, I’m filled with guilt and try to pull away, but I can’t. My body won’t move. I don’t know what she’s giving me, but I swallow it as her body melds to mine and my hands find her hips and then her sides. Before I know it, my hand is in her hair and I’m holding her to my mouth while we move to the beat of the music from the DJ.

  My world is spinning on an axis that I’m not in control of. I’m flush, sweating. I can’t get enough of Layla and it doesn’t matter what I do, the thirst I’m feeling isn’t being quenched. My hand slides under her shirt, my fingertips grazing her breast. She pulls me closer by my belt, rubbing herself against my erection.

  Her mouth leaves mine, her teeth biting my ear lobe. “My place is down the street. Want to get out of here?” I don’t know if I do, but I take her hand in mine and lead us to the door.

  Chapter 30

  We hold hands and rush toward her place, having to dodge cars as we jaywalk across the street. Steps are taken two at a time and she fumbles with her key when I attack her neck. I nip at her skin as my hands move up her body, under her shirt and pushing her bra aside. My desire for her is building, pushing the boundaries that I’ve held together for so long.

  The door finally opens and we stumble in. One of us pushes the door shut, but neither of us is really paying attention to whom. I pick her up, her legs wrap tightly around my waist as she grinds against my hard on. I moan, welcoming the pressure. I palm her ass in my hands as I walk blindly down the hall.

  “Turn,” she mewls and I do, crashing down on top of her as my knees hit her bed. She rolls, straddling me. I can barely make her out in the dark, but my hands feel her skin burn against the pads of my fingers. Her shirt is gone and mine is next. I should be doing something to help her undress, but her porcelain skin mesmerizes me.

  I sit up and kiss the valley between her breasts, lowering her bra. She arches when I bring her pebbled nipple into my mouth, tugging gently. Her fingers grab a handful of hair as she pulls me back, pushing me onto her bed. Layla moves my arms to rest above my head. I keep them there as if I’m being tied down. The clank of my belt and the pulling of the buttons on my jeans is the only indication that she’s still with me. My mind fogs over and the lights from the cars below create an array of colors and designs. My eyes follow the patterns on her ceiling as she pulls my jeans and boxers down.

  I look at her briefly, the street light outside providing enough illumination for me to see that she’s poised and hungry. Her eyes don’t leave mine as her tongue snakes out and licks the tip of my cock. Steady and focused, she watches me as I watch her take me into her warm mouth. For a moment, my eyes roll back, lost in this euphoric state. I want to reach for her, but my arms are heavy, weighted down and unable to move. My hips buck as she sucks harder.

  “She hates me,” I blurt out, unable to control or even comprehend what I’m saying. Layla kisses a path up my torso, biting my nipple before kissing me deeply.

  “I’ll make it all better,” she whispers against my lips as she sinks down on my erection. Her nails dig into my chest, inviting pain to surface. I scream out, encouraging her for more, begging her to put me out o
f my misery and she does. She takes everything that I can give her, pushing me to the brink.

  “Fuck,” I hiss as she rides me, our skin slapping against each other. She throws her head back and screams my name.

  My name on her lips in ecstasy spurs me on harder. I bring my hips up and push into her deeper, faster. She screams. Is it pain or pleasure? I don’t know because I don’t know her, not like I know... shit, this is wrong. Everything about her is wrong, but I can’t stop. My body doesn’t allow it. My dead carcass is the captain of my being and it’s telling me what to do. I have no control. I am nothing, if not a pawn in its game to get over the hurt and pain I’ve caused.

  I need this. I need to feel and be felt. I need to let go.

  The sound of horns honking and people yelling reverberate through my ears. I try to cover them, to block out the noise but to no avail. My head feels like there’s a jackhammer in there creating a sinkhole only it’s not for me to escape but to let more noise in.

  I open my eyes slowly only to be blinded by direct sunlight. I turn my face into the mattress and smell perfume. Someone shifts next to me, causing me to stiffen. I peek out over my arm and see a mess of red hair and alabaster skin. I rise up on my arms as confusion sets in. Nothing about this room or the girl next to me seems familiar. I roll over and sit up, using the eggplant purple sheet to cover my waist. I scrub my hands over my face, but quickly stop because of the throbbing. I hold my head in my hands and try to remember the night before. It’s all a haze. There was music, a few beers, dancing and Layla, the woman who captivated me on stage and offered to make the pain go away.

  Layla stirs next to me, turning over to face me. The energy and excitement she had last night lays dormant, waiting for her to come to life again. She looks at ease, peaceful, even as she lies next to me. There’s no doubt she’s beautiful, stunning even. It feels wrong and awkward to stare at her naked form, but I can’t help it. I was with her last night and she’ll never know the magnitude of what that means.